


Show Me You Like It

by KingOuija



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Boundary Pushing, Cum! Cum! Cum! And descriptions of foreskin., Do Not Archive, M/M, No supernatural content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-19
Updated: 2019-11-19
Packaged: 2021-02-13 06:04:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21489565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KingOuija/pseuds/KingOuija
Summary: Jon and Tim take a long lunch.(Someone on the kink meme asked for Inexperienced!Jon/Tim + teasing and praise kink)
Relationships: Jonathan Sims/Tim Stoker
Comments: 31
Kudos: 367
Collections: Rusty Kink





	Show Me You Like It

Tim was learning how Jon worked. The shell of his ear was sensitive to a light finger, hot breath, or a low voice--stimulate it, and he'd turn gratifyingly red, ears first, then the neck. Speaking of the neck, there was a spot there, right below his skull, where all the tension in his body was anchored, and when brushed lightly with the tip of a finger, it would make him drop his eyes closed and give a violent full-body shudder. If Tim ran his lips across Jon's fingertips when Jon wasn't braced for it, he'd exhale like he'd been punched, mouth soft and open.

They'd been fooling around for a while--scorn-based flirting, pushing each other between filing cabinets for secretive kisses--but Tim hadn't actually touched Jon's dick yet. Jon hadn't said he _shouldn't_, but he had warned him once, with a grimace out of place in the moment, that he was "sensitive" there. So was everyone, Tim nearly said, that was the point of them.

On deeper consideration, though, what did 'sensitive' mean to Jon, who was so ridiculously responsive to every stimulus Tim had tried it was at times almost concerning?

He found out that morning. He and Jon were playing what had become Tim's favorite game, which was to corner Jon somewhere out of the way--the supply closet this time--kiss him to distraction, then ask him some irrelevant question about work.

Tim pulled away a few centimeters, their lips parting wetly. "You remember Polly Smith's statement?"

It took Jon a moment. He wasn't that foggy yet, but Tim had thrown him a trick question. "Wait. Do you mean Molly Smith or Polly Schmidt?"

Tim was surprised to learn either was a real person. "Molly." He tangled his fingers in the short, disheveled curls at the base of Jon's skull, licked Jon's lower lip, before catching him in a long, relaxed kiss, tongue stroking at Jon's lips. When they parted, Jon's breath was shaky.

"What's the status?"

"Huh? Oh," Jon cleared his throat, "Followed up, discredited and filed. One of Sasha's, I belie--"

This time, Tim let his tongue slide deeper into Jon's mouth. He spread his fingers to tangle in Jon's hair, scraping nails against his scalp in a subtle gesture of ownership. Control. Tim could pull Jon closer or back. Tilt his head. For now, though, Tim was happy to stroke at Jon's tongue with his own. Jon gasped into his mouth when the textured top of Tim's tongue curled sideways to brush along his. And then Tim pulled Jon's head back and away.

"Fabulous! I don't know how you remember it all," Tim said. Jon looked dazed but so pleased, Tim couldn't help but smile. Jon's eyes dropped to Tim's lips, and he tried to pull forward to continue the kiss, but Tim fisted his hand in Jon's hair, holding him still.

"What was the case number, then?" Tim continued.

"Tim!" Jon gave a frustrated groan.

"Come on, boss. We're still on the clock."

Jon closed his eyes, vertical line appearing between his brows. "It was '96 or '98, February. So 99602...or 99802... " Tim could practically hear his cooling fan kick on as he thought. Time to make it more difficult. 

Tim wove a leg between Jon's, feeling the taut cushion of his balls against the top of his thigh. Jon took a sharp breath, pelvis hitching to push his cock against him.

"So which was it?"

Jon actually shook his head briskly--trying to shake the sense back into it--before answering.

"It's 9980217. I'm fairly certain because...because..." Jon let his head fall forward, still moving against Tim, hair tumbling in his eyes, "because seven eight nine."

"You're a treasure. You remember where that one got filed?" Tim asked innocently, reaching down to caress Jon's erection.

"You _know_ the system, Tim." Jon's voice was strained as his hips twitched, "It should be easy to find."

"I just wondered if you remembered the aisle number." Tim ran his fingers up Jon's shaft.

"It's..." Jon trailed off as Tim's thumb brushed his head. "Tim!"

"What's Tim?" That was a nice reaction--the embarrassed peevishness. Tim leaned over Jon, watching the play of expressions across his face as Tim's fingers explored his contours. The corduroy of Jon's trousers wasn't thick and did nothing to obscure the shape of him. Tim's fingers traced the swell of the corona, back and forth. Jon's mouth opened and closed soundlessly.

Then his mouth closed. All of him closed. He curled forward in Tim's arms, hands fisting in the sleeves of Tim's shirt, and made a noise of distress.

Tim froze, confused. Was that...? And then he felt wet warmth speading beneath his fingers, soaking the fabric. "Oh my god," he exclaimed in surprise, before realizing he probably shouldn't have.

Jon hung from him for a moment, before staggering free of his arms, headed towards the door.

"Wait!" Tim said, overtaking him in two steps. "Wait, Jon--where are you going?"

"Back to work," Jon said coldly.

"Like _that_?"

"Yes, Tim." Jon was furious as he spun to face Tim, teeth bared and eyes glittering, "I've hardly got a choice, have I? And if you're smart, you'll save your fucking filing questions for tomorrow! I warned you--"

"Jon, please. I didn't mean to--" Tim stopped himself. Well, he hadn't exactly _not_ meant to. "Tell you what," he tried, "You can make me come, and we'll call it even, alright?"

"What?! What on earth are you thinking?" But Jon had stopped and turned back to him, hand still on the knob. And, holy fuck, was Jon actually going to go for this? He looked like he might go for it.

Tim was careful not to look at the spreading wet patch on Jon's trousers, as he leaned toward him, trapping him against the door. Tim took his wrist, and Jon let him guide his hand to Tim's crotch. Tim felt a startle reflex travel down Jon's arm before he relaxed and let his fingers explore.

"That's nice. Please, Jon. It's only fair." Tim bit his lip, playing up his reaction a bit for the sake of Jon's confidence. His cock, already achingly hard, jumped obediently at Jon's touch. Tim watched a curious, intent look steal over his face. "Let's lock the door."

Jon reached behind himself to twist the lock. "Fine. As of," he checked his watch, "twelve thirty, we're both on lunch."-

"It's Friday, boss. Hour lunch?" Tim said hopefully, tilting his head so he could look up at Jon from beneath his eyelashes. It was a look he'd been using to win unwise concessions from authority figures most his life.

Jon looked at him assessingly, free hand rising to Tim's hip to draw him closer while the other continues to fondle Tim through his jeans. "Do you have something special in mind?"

"I want to teach you how to fuck a man."

"I-I'm not in any shape to..." Jon trailed off, intrigue quickly replacing shame.

Tim kissed him. "Bet we won't have to wait long."

Jon reddened, looking down. "I...er. Sorry I snapped at you. You couldn't have known I'd...um..."

"Jon, do something for me." Jon looked up at him. "Unzip me." The raw rasp of stiff wet denim against his skin was going to draw blood before it made him come. He gave a relieved sigh as his dick sprang free. "Oh god, that's better." He looked down at Jon. "Watching you come was unbelievably hot, so thanks for that."

Pleasure and disbelief warred on Jon's face. "You're joking."

"Does _that_ look like a joke to you?" Jon followed the line of his gaze, then his eyes snapped back to Tim's. Jon hadn't touched Tim's cock since he'd let it out. Seemed nervous even of looking at it.

"The more time I have to spend convincing you I actually want you," Tim went on, "the less we've got for anal. And, oh look. I'm wilting. Would you mind?"

"Hmm," Jon said thoughtfully, as he began to work at Tim's erection. Too thoughtfully for Tim's taste. He wanted to get Jon back to that blissful stupor right on the edge of orgasm as soon as possible and keep him trapped there until his forehead wrinkles smoothed and his hair grew in black and maybe he even smiled. "So what is there to teach, exactly?"

"Quite a bit, but we're going to take it one step at a time."

"If you have to direct me every step of the way, won't this just be...well, masturbation with a second body?" Jon's hand was frustratingly light on Tim, keeping him at a low boil that didn't feel like it was building. Made it easier to hold his end of the conversation at least.

"When the second body's a body like yours, that's a pretty attractive proposition."

Jon's expression of anger-pleasure-embarrassment got him low in the guts like a knife made of heat. Was it too late to tie Jon up and torment him with ridiculous compliments instead?

Jon muttered something, then repeated himself at Tim's prompting. "You're saying that because you haven't seen it yet."

"Then let's see it."

Tim undressed Jon with brutal efficiency. A couple tugs of the tie to loosen it. Unbutton each shirt cuff. Whip the whole shirt and waistcoat together right off the top of his head. Tim smirked at the sight of Jon, hair wild, glasses askew, hugging his chest like a swimmer who'd lost her top. "Adorable."

Not to be patronized, Jon attacked Tim with equal enthusiasm, if less adeptness. The collar of Tim's shirt got snagged under his chin, and they struggled to free him. Tim shimmied himself out of his trousers, kicking his shoes off. He was debating socks--aesthetics vs the questionable cleanliness of the floor--when he noticed Jon, barelegged now, about to finish wiping himself off on his sodden pants.

"Wait--let me just-" Tim ran a finger along Jon's dick, then daintily tasted his come.

Jon was staring at him with a combination of awe and revulsion.

"I heard smokers taste different," he explained. "Never sucked off a smoker before. Not that I know of, anyway."

Jon had to clear his throat. "R-really? So is it?"

"I think so. Want a taste?"

Jon leaned forward, visibly bracing himself. He sucked his own flavor from Tim's fingertips with hot, soft lips, sending a little bolt to Tim's cock. He was starting to get why Jon liked Tim's mouth on his fingers.

"One and a half stars," Jon decided. "It's no Alain Ducasse."

Tim grinned, caressing Jon's bottom lip with his thumb, before ducking his head down for a kiss. "God, you look good doing that."

Maybe Jon was starting to believe it. Tim noticed he wasn't hiding his body behind his arms any longer, though his shoulders were still rolled forward self-consciously. Tim felt a featherlight touch brush the inside of his leg, and looked down to see Jon's cock beginning to fill again.

Tim snagged the strap of his messenger bag, and grabbed the tube of lubricant and condoms, putting them where they'd be in easy reach for later. "Grab that yoga mat from the lost and found box." It was a bit grubby-looking, but it would beat the floor.

"So, uh," Tim asked, settling himself on it, "You want to open me up, or watch while I do it?"

"Open you...?"

"Stick a few fingers up me?"

Jon sucked in a startled breath, eyes huge. Tim wondered whether he was about to grab his clothes and bolt.

"Or we can slow it down. Maybe just do some oral or--"

"No!" Jon reddened at his own vehemence, then squeezed his eyes shut to get the rest out. "I want to do it. I want to...t-to learn how to do it." He got his eyes open for the next part. "I want." And there his words ran out, and he just swallowed.

Tim rolled forward onto his knees and gripped Jon by both hands, looking up at him with a smile. "My thoughts exactly. Damn, have you got a way with words."

"I can only talk about sex in dead languages." Jon replied, letting Tim tug him down to his knees.

"Go on, then," Tim rose with the challenge, licking up into Jon's mouth, hands spread on his cheekbones. It was a very thorough kiss, one Jon answered with increasing boldness. Tim felt Jon's hands slide down over his ass, pressing their pelvises flush. It was a struggle not to just take up both their cocks in one slick hand...

He started as he felt Jon's fingers reach between his cheeks, and pulled away.

"One, bad angle. You'll kill your wrist. Two, let's not go in dry." 

"You told me to." Jon looked betrayed.

"Oh. I was asking for some hot ancient pillowtalk." Tim reached for the lube. "Put out your hands."

Tim found himself focusing on Jon's hands as he slicked them. They were large for a small man. Long fingered, straight, short nailed. They were the most straightforwardly lovely part of him. Aside from his eyes, large and grave, with thick black lashes and dark rust-brown irises.

Now those eyes were shining with humor as Jon asked, "Anything in particular you want me to say?"

"Tell me my ass is your paradise." Rather than crumple and dirty their discarded clothes any further, Tim reached for the shelf behind him, and grabbed a bin of leftover rolled-up tee shirts from last year's company picnic to prop himself up on.

Jon rattled off a string of--well, probably Latin, though Tim didn't recognize a word. He turned back around in time to catch Jon eyeing the stretch of his back, and grinned at him. He'd thought of a new game for himself--make Jon forget a language.

As Tim positioned himself, he said, "I liked the sound of that. Do it with feeling this time."

Jon crawled over where he was reclining and leaned down to kiss him. He repeated it into Tim's mouth between kisses, his voice sliding into a timbre that resonated in Tim's bones. He suddenly knew what a crystal goblet felt like the moment before it shivered to pieces. He found himself arching his hips toward Jon quite unconsciously.

Jon looked down at him, naked glee on his face. "More?"

_"Please."_

Jon sat back on his heels, wiping his hards on one of the shirts, then struggling with the tube of lubricant again. "Hmm. How about--" This phrase was short, and one of the words called to mind phrases Tim had learned in Spanish and Italian. It was a startling word to hear come out of Jon's mouth.

"Mate." His voice was flat. "Did you just say you loved me?"

Jon laughed at his response. "No. I said you were adorable."

Tim grinned, repeating it back, to Jon's pleasure. "Maybe we'll both learn something today." he said, noticing the direction of Jon's gaze, a movement of his hand arrested barely begun. "It's alright. You can touch me."

"Thank-I mean, sure." Tim gave him an I-heard-that smile that Jon completely missed, because he was looking at the lower half of Tim like an extra-tricky crossword. Then he began to touch him.

Jon's fingers were firm and warm, taking the measure of Tim without breaching the entrance. He began, just as gently as he'd handled Tim's cock, to stroke around the rim. Tim let himself lay back, relaxing. Jon said something low and cherishing.

"What's that?"

"'You belong on your back.'"

"Dickhead. Feel free to actually-"

Jon did. Felt like fore and middle finger. They slid in easily.

"Feels like you're grabbing me." Jon mused softly. "Hungry?"

Tim was going to make a smart remark, but Jon's fingertips grazed his prostate, and he went a little weak, nerves sparking. Jon noticed, and focused his attention on the spot, forcing his fingers deeper, massaging into it.

"I've never seen that look on you before." Yes, there was a definite note of smugness in Jon's voice.

"In...Latin." Tim breathed.

"I can speak Latin at you, poke your ass, or tug you off. Pick any two." Jon said tartly.

In answer, Tim reached down and started stroking himself. Jon obediently began muttering something repetitive and distracted-sounding that kept trailing off as he watched Tim. The intensity in his face would have been creepy if Tim hadn't been floating, body light and tingling.

Jon's fingers wouldn't keep the same rhthym for more than a few seconds at a time, and it was _maddening,_ but then a hard press against his prostate would sync beautifully with the stroke of his own hand, and it'd wash through his skin like a billow of seafoam, and he was right on the edge of losing it, panting, body taut-

And Jon leaned down, lowering his mouth toward Tim's cock, the light catching his slick pink tongue, and that was _it_.

As Tim raised himself onto his elbows, feeling dreamily untied, he wished he'd held out long enough to get Jon's mouth around him. But then he'd be deprived of the sight of Jon struggling with what to do about the mess on his face. He'd reflexively licked his lips, then realized with a glance at Tim, _oh, that's disgusting and he's watching._ Then Jon had got his right hand halfway raised to wipe himself off before he remembered he'd just pulled it out of a butt, so that was no good either. He was about to grab one of the tee shirts, a heavy drop of spunk swinging off the end of his nose, when Tim decided to take pity.

Tim rolled upward to grab Jon by the wrists and pull him over his body, come dripping a trail from Jon's face to his own chest, then wiped him clean and pressed a kiss to his mouth.

"So it was good for you, I take it?"

"I want to ride you next," Tim said instead of replying. Jon was hot and iron hard against his hip.

"Alright," Jon replied, licking his lips again. "Tell me what to do."

Tim pushed him onto his back and slicked him up, finally taking the opportunity to get a good look at Jon's cock. Even fully hard, his foreskin hadn't completely retracted. Must be tight--no wonder he'd come all over himself at the first couple strokes. The skin of the head peeking through was petal-tender and dewy-looking. Tim had wrapped his lips around it impulsively before remembering this particular lube was kind of gross-tasting. Jon groaned, head falling back, and his own flavor cut through it as Tim circled the head with his tongue.

When he had Jon's attention again, Tim locked eyes with him and used his mouth to roll the condom down over his cock. People generally appreciated that, but he'd never heard a sweet, shocked little gasp like Jon's before. Tim retracted his lips, letting Jon's cock bob free. He'd been intending to give Jon his most seductive grin, but could feel his face forming some softer expression.

He crawled forward to straddle Jon's waist, kissed his speechless lips, then carefully positioned himself and sank onto Jon. No gasp this time. Jon didn't seem to have the breath for it. His back arched, head thrown back, eyes fluttering. He made a gorgeous picture that way, the long graceful line of his turned neck flowing down through his slender torso. Dark, silver-streaked hair in disarray around his flushed face. Flush spilling down his neck to his chest, to the fernlike contour his dark body hair drew against his skin.

Tim placed a hand on Jon's chest, feeling the strong thump of his heart through his sternum, "How're you holding up?"

Jon's hand came up to clutch his wrist. "It's, um, it's intense."

"Yeah."

"I should be asking you."

"Good. Full, like, stuffed almost." Tim clenched around him, wanting to see if he could see it ripple through Jon's face. "It feels good if you're relaxed."

"Reh, um. Really?" His expression turned shy. "It's hard to imagine..."

"I can do you next time."

"Well! Um. So." Not going to tackle that one yet. "What do you want me to do now?"

"Oh, move your hips around a bit." Tim winked. "More Latin would be nice. I'll take care of the rest."

"Tiiiim," Jon groaned. "I was doing conjugations. I really don't know how you expect me to talk any sense in the middle of all this."

Tim decided it'd be a good moment to start moving. "I don't, but it's so fucking cute to see you try."

There was no chance of Tim getting a second orgasm out this quickly, but watching Jon writhe beneath him was better. Jon's hands kept trying to say to Tim what his mouth was incapable of. They rose to caress Tim's waist as he moved himself up and down. Grasped his arm, entwined their hands. Jon's glasses flew off to the side at one point, and he didn't seem to notice. Face soft and reddened, hair wild, eyes bright and undefended, he looked his actual age.

The brush of Jon's cock against his prostate sent bright little shocks through Tim, his limp dick drooling the last of its load across Jon's sweet little belly. The movements of Jon's hips beneath him became frantic and irregular before long--not a moment too soon, because, fit as Tim was, his legs and abdomen were starting to ache from the strain. But there was no question of finishing it the easy way, on hands and knees. He _had_ to watch Jon.

When Jon came this time, Tim wasn't going to let him hide his face. He pulled his arms away and held Jon's wrists, watching the expressions spill over Jon's face in a kaleidoscope of strain and abandon, until his breath caught and then he collapsed.

Tim leaned forward over Jon, letting his softening cock slide out of him. Jon could do nothing for the moment but breathe and blink up at him. Tim kissed his slack lips, shallowly at first, and then sliding his tongue in. Jon woke up and started kissing him back, slow and lazy.

They were both sweaty--Tim especially, and where their bodies were pressed together, they didn't cool. It would have been wonderful to laze the afternoon away sprawled on the grubby floor of the supply closet. Except one of them should be responsible. Eventually.

"So boss," Tim said, fingers tangled in Jon's hair, "did we overshoot our hour?"

Jon slithered awkwardly out from beneath him, fumbling through his clothes pile until he found his watch.

"...no actually." He let himself thump back onto the mat. "I don't know how I'm supposed to get anything done this afternoon. I could sleep for a thousand years." He didn't sound too torn up about it. _Good_. Peering over, Tim could see him laughing softly to himself.

Tim redressed quickly and tidied the best he could. There were a couple things he'd be smuggling home that evening to clean. By the time he was done, Jon was becoming more sensible. He was redressing himself socks first.

"I don't know what I'm supposed to do with these," he said distastefully, pants dangling between two fingers.

"Let me have them."

Tim couldn't help laughing as Jon clutched them to his chest, looking shocked.

"I just meant I'm the one with a washing machine."

"Right."

He still winced, looking like he wanted to protest, as Tim balled them wetside in and stuck them in his own pocket. 

The atmosphere between them grew heavy for a moment at the door, as they both tried to remember how to be boss and employee. Then Tim ruined the effort by noticing Jon's hair was still a mess and quickly finger-combing it. And then they both ruined it further with a kiss that felt like an end-of-date kiss. One of those lingering I-really-want-to-see-you-again ones. Tim, looking for something romantic to say, settled on that easy piece of Latin.

He got it very wrong, and Jon teased him all the way down the hallway and back to the office.


End file.
